


We suffer, but we remain.

by Avamarie, DigitalKiss



Category: teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Aftermath of Violence, Derek Needs a Hug, F/M, FBI Agent Stiles Stilinski, FBI!Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Slow Burn, a huge wip, sterek, what are fbi dynamics what
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-08-24
Packaged: 2018-12-07 15:48:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11626767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avamarie/pseuds/Avamarie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/DigitalKiss/pseuds/DigitalKiss
Summary: Stiles has only been apart of the FBI for a few months, but what's he to do when what should have been an easy extraction mission ends up leading him straight to Derek Hale?





	1. The Unexpected.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, Ava here! It's currently 6 am here, but here it is. I just had to work on getting this story out of my head.  
> This piece will be shared between myself & Digitalkiss, so chapters will be updated depending on inspiration and free time!  
> This is currently going up without being BETA'D ( So, please ignore any of my silly sleepy mistakes, I'll look back at this later when i'm more awake and correct whatever errors I find. )  
> This is a huge WIP, POVS will switch every chapter!

It’s raining. Drowning everything within sight, and deafening the point’s words in his ears. Stiles is glaring at the guy as he explains the team’s deployment: Betty chirps an unhelpful: so I'm stuck with the new guy, again from somewhere in the small group. As if it was Stiles’ fault that he got paired up with the most, pessimistic person on the team. He huffs out a joke that’s only audience is the rain that devours it. Betty shifts, and meets his gaze in the huddle and hustles over to him. Throwing her drenched blonde ponytail off her shoulder and ducking under the SUV's hatchback. Effectively shielding herself from the overcast. She’s practically on top of him, with her shoulder and chest armor scraping against his. She’s so close that he can count each individual freckle that litters the bridge of her nose.

“Remember, this is a search and eval. mission. There’s no hard evidence that says that those kids will be here.” Aaron, the guy on point informs through the comm. system in hopes that the static radio relays better than his voice against the storm. It doesn’t. In fact, it’s probably worse and Stiles’ finds himself straining to hear anything whatsoever.

“It’s just a rumor. Some John Doe said he had heard screaming a couple nights ago. Doesn’t mean anything, He was probably just hearing things, you know how those night-joggers are, but the department’s bent on us checking out every last nook and cranny for those missing kids.” Betty informs while manhandling her tactical gear. Stiles assumed she was making sure it was secured.

“Yeah. Only the dead are alive at 3 am.” Rebekah, Aaron’s partner grumbles as she takes stock of her weapon.The dead and the supernatural, Stiles’ brain adds as an afterthought. In fact, he wouldn’t put it pass Lydia to be awake around that time. Lydia and the rest of them. Stiles straightens just a bit more at the thought of his hometown, and the pack. Thumbs over his own gear, and waits. That’s all they can do, is wait for Aaron’s go. He glances down at his digital watch, only 5 minutes left before the team’s given the green light.

The first abductee was placed a little over 6 months ago. A shaggy brown-haired kid by the name of Andrew, roughly around the age of 17 had just up and vanished one night in December. The parent’s reported him missing on on the 13th, their statement claimed that he had last been seen at his friend’s house not too far from their property. Still, that property line ran over 34 acres, which left a lot of questionable grey-area. After that, a kid was reported missing every other week. It was like it was on a cycle, and they all fit the same description: blondish brown hair, dark eyes, all around the age of 17. The only striking difference was that none of them were from the same area.

“It’s like we’re in a horror movie.” Rebekah blatantly points out near the second truck’s backseat. She’s in the process of wiggling into her belt and checking its contents. “God. please don’t say horror movie.” Stiles’ gripes from his seat, watching her a second before glancing toward the seemingly abandoned shack a couple meters out. The last thing any of them needed was to walk into the den of something inhuman, and not friendly.

Rebekah’s still talking, but he’s taken up ignoring her in favor of staring at the target. Sure, the building’s floor plans had been subjected to the town’s record system. It was old, with underground passages that linked up with the neighboring sewage tunnels. In theory, the entire team knew where each passage leads, but that was it. A theory, the best he could hope for was that they didn’t get completely discombobulated once they’re down there.

There’s a knock against the SUV’s haul that draws all of their attention. All three of them are shuffling forward, shutting car doors and promptly rounding the SUVs until they’re right in front of Aaron. He takes one look at the group, and while pointing at his watch, and shutting a car door of his own the four of them are collectively jogging for the underbrush surrounding the house.

Stiles’ is somewhat glad they’re caught in a torrential downpour if only because the immense sound is dampening the noise the group is making in their advancement. Aaron’s breaks the team apart the second they’ve landed at the forefront of the property. Stiles gives an acknowledging nod before he and Betty are diverging off into the thicket to enter the house from the back.

“Stay close.” She murmurs in passing and together they climb up the steps to the back patio, flank the door and bust in. It falls like thunder, and Stiles’ is afraid his teeth will chip by how roughly he’s nervously grinding them together.

Aside for the soft crunch of their boots against the debris, it’s eerily quiet. It doesn’t bode well with him. Dust plumes out from around the door as it hits the ground. It’s suffocating, and he’s doing his best to swallow past the growing lump in his throat. There’s an imposing atmosphere clinging to them, the way the floorboards creak with every step in the otherwise deafening silence, There’s a constant buzzing at the back of his skull like there’s someone----something watching him from the shadows. 

Stiles’ runs his tongue over the expanse of his teeth and ducks into the room just left off of the kitchen. It’s almost exactly the same as the first, abandoned, stricken with dust, and lost to months of neglect. Betty huffs over his shoulder. Stiles pauses, head snapping in her direction. 

They’ve spent months learning to communicate silently. To pick up signs and tells from each other, and he’s worked with Betty enough to know her tells. He’s already following her lead as her back hits the wall just behind the door. Her gaze sweeping over the room before settling on him. he’s poised on the other side of the door before she can even begin to beckon him forward. Placing one hand firmly on the handle, he tenses, ready to pull. But that nagging feeling has suddenly increased tenfold. “Go.” She whispers over the dread building in the depths of his stomach. The gun in her hand kept level with the floor beneath their feet. 

“Something doesn’t feel right.” Stiles’ mumbles back as he carefully pops the door open and steps back, letting it swing clear of him. He’s gnawing at his bottom lip as he trains his gun and flashlight into the pitch darkness of the hallway. He hears rather than sees Betty step off the wall, and around the door. 

“Don’t say that. Every time you say that something seriously goes wrong. It’s like you’re a walking Richter scale for trouble.” Betty hisses at him through clenched teeth as she steps over a gap in the floor he hadn’t noticed before, and flicks her light to recanvas the room behind them. “The last time you said shit like that, my sister took a javelin to the shoulder.” Continues Betty with a sigh. 

“Okay, no. I thought we agreed that wasn’t my fault.” A shiver runs down the length of his spine, and with a steeled breath Stiles forces himself into the hall. The light sways from the floor to the ceiling before righting itself back in the center. 

“Says who!? You pushed my face into a pile of mud and smacked the perp with a baseball bat. By the way, you still haven’t explained why you had a bat in your car. So, no. if you ask me, it was definitely your fault.” Betty quips over his shoulder. He scoffs, eyebrows vanishing under his sweat-matted fringe, and frowns into the dark. “No, I saved your face from getting a serious makeover, you’re welcome by the way.” Stiles rebukes back as he leads their advance down the hallway. 

The floorboards creak and groan under their combined weight, and he swears he just heard something POP. His gaze lifts to inspect the bits and pieces of wall they're passing. Behind him, Betty huffs in false indignation. He knows without really looking at her that despite the severity of her tone, she’s amused. Another, much softer groan echoes into the dark as some of the flooring beneath them starts to give way. ‘I neve------” Betty screams accompanies Stiles’ gasps, and then screams himself when the floor suddenly caves in, plunging them into the void.

“St----” 

“----iles!” 

“Goddamnit,.....Stiles!” 

“....hgn..” Stiles groans at his partner’s oddly manly voice as he stirs and rolls onto his side. His ribs feel as though they’ve just caught fire, and Stiles hunks back down onto his spine with an undignified grunt. It doesn’t take a genius to know that something is broken. Broken or severely bruised. God, he’s hoping it’s not the latter. 

“FUCKING STILES!” The voice he had thought was Betty’s rumbles again. It catches him so off guard that his head whips up from the ground. The motion jars his senses and with a: ‘Fuck, bad idea. Oh my god.’ he presses his face back into the damp concrete to stave the pain that throbs through his head and promptly blacks out again.

“Sti..les. C’mon…..Hey.” He’s woken by Betty’s voice for a second time. Stiles squints into the stone, groans and drags his face against the scratchy surface until he’s staring at the tip of her ponytail. He shifts until he can see most of her chest gear and a good portion of her arm. One of the straps on her vest has been snapped off completely, she’s missing a sleeve and he’s greeted with a patchwork of cuts, scrapes, and what looks like dried blood smeared across the length of her entire forearm. 

“You look like hell.” Stiles coughs out against the rubble. 

He’s expecting something, so the fact that Betty’s abnormally silent sets him on edge. “Betty?” He’s repeating, but what he hears instead of his partner’s voice is a lowset baritone that’s GROWLING at him. Growling at them. 

Stiles’ head whips to the left and finds exactly what has rendered Betty into silence, in fact, the sight causes his own throat to drop into his stomach, and his stomach to fall to the floor. It’s unconscious, the way he presses his palm against the curve of Betty’s bicep to anchor both her and himself. 

Despite the fact that his head is spinning, he knows two things. One: there are definite voices echoing somewhere in the distance, and two: that was the distinct form of a body strapped to what looked like a barred fence. A body that he knows a little too well. 

“Der---ek?” It suddenly makes sense why he had thought Betty’s voice had sounded so robust the first time he regained consciousness. The name starts something similar to a domino effect. Betty shifts and sinks her nails into the soft part of his arm hard enough to draw blood. She’s scared, he can tell by the slight tremor in her wrist as she clutches at his skin. 

He doesn’t blame her in the slightest though because he’s sitting there. One one side of the room staring at his friend who's been strung up with, what is that barbed wire? and strapped back against that monstrosity of a fence. It’s only when he hears Betty’s sobbed mutter of ‘it’s sparking’ does he zero in on that faint humming sound. 

“That’s…….They’re electrocuting him! Betty. MOVE!” Stiles’ roars, knocking Betty’s grip off of him as he clambers up onto his feet and makes a dead run for the guy. It all seems to happen at once. The way Derek’s eyes fly open as he arches in pain against his bindings and snarls out something that sounds alarmingly like. ‘It’s a trap’. The way a door on the other side of the room he hadn’t even noticed before swings open and clatters with a resoundingly loud crack into the wall, and the way those voices he had heard just a few minutes ago are now extremely close, each one shouting orders he can’t possibly make out in the chaos. 

Stiles sees more than hears his name on Derek’s lips as something heavy and sharps thunks into the space just left of his spinal column and he sprawls into the ground for a second time that night. It’s quiet now and he’s pretty sure he just heard the distinct sound of a gun’s hammer click back into place. The world lists and his vision darkens at the edges. Pain erupts from the center of his back as he forces his hands into the cement and pushes himself up onto his side with a choked cough. 

“Freeze!” Betty’s voice rings out, effectively culling the silence, she’s managed to find her gun amidst the chaos. She’s got it aimed for the thug stood between herself, and Stiles. His own gun pointed at the very lanky agent at their captive’s feet. He can’t make it out, what with the way that his vision swims against the dimly lit room, but he’s pretty sure she’s got her back ‘take no nonsense’ face on. One, Stiles would like to point out would give even Derek’s own to shame. 

“Drop it,” Betty commands not a second later before promptly taking a step closer. The guy in question sneers and does just the opposite. He rears back on her, and with a scoff dares to advance on Stiles, who by now has managed to work himself back onto his knees. 

“Listen, girly, you’re clearly misinformed here. You see, this guy.” The thug actually takes a moment to swing his barel up at Derek in a wide gesture before retraining it back on Stiles. “He’s a monster, and we’re….we’ll let’s just say that we’re here to clean up the mess.” 

“The only monster I see here is you, buddy.” Stiles spits hatefully and scoots himself closer to Derek. He’s scowling when the guy whirls back on him and actually STOMPS towards him. He doesn’t get more than two steps before two are put into his back, and it takes Stiles a second to realize that it wasn’t Betty who had fired, but instead Aaron. 

“Seriously, Stiles, we can’t ever leave you alone, can we.” Aaron quips as he edges into the room with Rebekah on his heel. 

“No, ‘course not. ‘m always keeping the team on their toes.” Stiles shoots back sarcastically and hefts himself back onto his feet with stiff joints. “Alright.” Stiles gruffs, a hand pressing against the spot where the bullet hit him through his vest, and yeah, there’s definitely going to be a bruise there tomorrow if there wasn’t already on there now. 

“C’mon big guy, let’s get you out of here.” He doesn’t have to wave his partner toward the wires because she’s already started working with culling the feed to the wires at his wrists. At his back Aaron circles the room kicks the guy’s gun away and kneels down to take stock of the work he’s done. Rebekah heads straight for the transformer tucked away in the corner and switches it off and nods at Stiles who frowns, reaches up and slaps Derek’s face in an attempt to reawaken the wolf. ( No, seriously, he’s not exactly sure when Derek had fallen unconscious, and it’s a fact that grates at his nerves and sits heavily on his conscious. He should have noticed! ) 

They’ve only just cut the wires on his left hand when he falls forward, onto Stiles. Who huffs under the weight, but snakes an arm around Derek’s core and carefully lowers them both to the floor. Stiles is uncharacteristically gentle as he maneuvers his head into the fat of his thigh. Stiles cups his face in a roundabout way of checking for fever ( even though, yeah, he knows Derek’s a werewolf and would be mostly healed by the time they haul his ass out of here. ) out of trained habit and once he deems it survivable he moves his hand to rest on his chest, right over his heart. 

“I’ve already reported back, They’re sending an ambulance,” Rebekah informs as she drops down in front of them, and reaches over Derek and cup’s Stiles’ face. She’s grinning as she manhandles his head this way and that. 

“Man, you look like you’ve been hit by a truck.” The redhead smirks, and Stiles doesn’t have to ask to know that his face has blossomed into a beautiful array of scrapes, lacerations and bruises. 

“Goes with my stunning personality.” Stiles rebukes just as easily, his attention falling back to the hunk of werewolf passed out in his lap. Rebekah seems to follow his direction of thought because she then sighs and pats his shoulder, which stings from his earlier plummet. “He’ll be okay, as soon as the truck gets here, he’ll be rushed to the hospital.” 

“Yeah.” Stiles absent with a dumb nod.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback and suggestions are always welcomed!  
> Chapter penned by Avamarie!


	2. The Trap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, Digital here! Thanks so much for all the love (we didn't expect so much love tbh), we hope that you enjoy this chapter!   
>  Unbeta'd.  
> Warnings: hunters hurting/torturing Derek, inaccurate portrayal of medical care, hunger.

He first sees her when she’s cornered by her classmates on the way home from school. She’s a short blonde with tan skin, a permanent scowl pulling on her face.  Her brown eyes gaze piercingly at the brunette leader of the crew of four, who’s advancing on her with a wide grin on her face.  Derek closes his eyes and listens: her heartbeat pounding at well over 100 beats per minute; the scuff of sneakers against concrete as they form a circle around her; the pop of one of the girl’s chewing gum as she reaches out and pushes the blond towards the leader.

“So, you want to be the flyer? Is that why Claire spent the entire afternoon getting her cast put on?”

The small girl shakes her head in denial and takes a step left - she’s quickly blocked off by another girl.  They’re not smiling anymore.  Their scent is angry now, and Derek narrows his eyes.  Stops in his jog and pretends to take a break, scrolling through his phone.  

“No, I don’t.  What happened today --”

“Was either you being careless, or more likely, intentionally damaging our team.  Neither of which are good excuses, by the way.  So?  Do you have an explanation for us?”

For a few moments, the girl hesitates.  Her heartbeat speeds up more, and she licks her lips nervously, looking at the ground.  There’s something off, and Derek frowns.  Breathes in deeper before the scent hits him: wolf, and very, very young one at that.  He watches her carefully now, memorizing her scent.

“--Yeah, that’s what we thought.  You’re off the team, Kai.  Harth’s High cheerleading squad has no spot for you.”

“Wait.  You can’t do that!”  she’s dropped her backpack on the ground, stepping forward to grab the other girl by her shoulders.  The group shifts uneasily and they give them more space, backing off with their hands gripping their own backpacks tightly.  “I’ll lose my scholarship.  You know I can’t afford--”

“We’re not trusting someone who would let her own teammates fall.  And besides, I’m team captain.  I c--”  Derek snaps his gaze up as the scent of blood wafts through the air.  There’s a collective shriek - the loudest of which came from the team captain, who was covering her shoulders with both hands.  Her friends next to her gasp and pull her hand away, which was covered in blood.  Kai was gone, her backpack forgotten on the ground.

The next day, the local news broadcasted the disappearance of Kai Thummer.   _Suspected kidnapping, local authorities are still investigating the specific circumstances of --_

The likelihood of a werewolf getting captured by a normal human is incrementally small.  The likelihood of a hunter group hanging around Harth’s High however, is a much different story.  He takes only his jacket ( for a brief moment, he wishes Stiles was here.  With his stupid crime board, he’d probably be able to give him more clues than just tracking a scent.  But the kid was training with the FBI last time he checked, and the rest of Derek’s pack was with Scott or dead ) before he leaves, the moon the only witness to his whereabouts.

Tracking Kai’s scent led him down to the sewers.  Since he was unfamiliar with the territory, he stopped.  He’d return with blueprints to the sewers, try to locate the most heavily fortified area, where hunters would most likely take Kai.  He’s just about to turn away when he hears a child’s scream, followed by the sound of a werewolf howling in pain.  Then silence.

Derek runs into the tunnels before he could think, straining to pick up any more sounds or a heartbeat.  The echo of the tunnels made it extremely difficult to track any location, but he persists, his head echoing with the screams of the child.  There aren’t any more screams, but he does pick up on a faint whimper.  He picks up his pace and continues running, eyes and ears scanning for any sign of life.

His foot hits something stuck underwater in the flooded runways, causing something heavy to drop on top of him.  The werewolf tried to get back up, but the weight presses him down further, making him choke on the filthy water.  

Net.  Mountain ash.  And now, footsteps.

There’s enough strength remaining in him to snarl at the approaching hunters, red eyes gleaming in the dark.  There’s a sharp intake of breath - one of the hunters is surprised.  Alpha, they breathed, and the adrenaline turns briefly into fear.  Derek strained up, his fangs extending for only a brief moment before the ash forces him back into human form, and with it, his alpha eyes.  The scent of fear turns into arrogance, and the tunnel echos as they step towards him.  Pain blossoms in his side as a steel toe connects with his ribs.

“Look at what we caught ourselves here.  Think he was the one that bit those kids?”

“Dunno.  Does it matter?”

A boot presses against his jawline and he swallows the pain and blood.  The kid - the kid with the blond hair and fierce eyes was probably dead.  He could smell Kai’s blood on the hunters’ jacket and hands.  Much, much more than necessary for a quick, clean death.  With one last snarl, Derek lunges at the closest hunter - only to receive two taser lines into his chest.  His vision turned white as his world exploded in pain.

The darkness that followed offered no comfort.

* * *

“Can you hear me?  What’s your name?” Derek grimaces as a light shines in his eyes, blinding him.  He attempts to lift up his arm to shield himself, but they’re strapped tightly to … a stretcher.  Ambulance.

“Stiles!”  He lurches up as much as the straps allow and immediately coughs, a wet sound that has the paramedic immediately pushing him back down.  The straps and medical equipment attached to the wall jingle loudly as the car took a turn. “He was shot.”

“Officer Stilinski is fine.  His vest took the shot.  He’s getting his cuts bandaged and he’ll meet up with us at the hospital, okay?  Now, can you tell me your name?”

“Derek. Hale.”  He coughs again, and his chest seizes with pain.  The cuts there are still bleeding, he realizes - apparently, months of electrical currents coupled with only enough food and sleep to keep him alive made even werewolf healing sluggish.  “Did they find anyone else down there?”

There’s a sad look in her eye as she puts a hand on his shoulder.  Silently, she shakes her head, and he sighs.  The rest of the way to the hospital is silent, save for the sirens wailing overhead.  When they get to the emergency room, a mess of blue scrubs and lights is waiting for him.  The staff there are clearly expecting worse injuries, as the doctor ( Dr. Lena, her nametag read) who examines him smells of relief and exhaustion by the time she’s done.  

“You’ll be okay.  Most of your wounds are superficial.  There’s some muscle bruising and lacerations, but nothing that won’t heal in a few weeks.”  Dr. Lena puts her clipboard to the side and grabs a first aid kit, pulling out a needle and thread.  He looks down at his chest, where some of the cuts are still sluggishly oozing blood, then looks back up at her. Something in his expression must have made her uncomfortable because her smile drops.  Thin, tired lips press together in a tight line and she starts wordlessly stitching together some of the bigger lacerations.  Derek takes a moment to look down at her digital watch, zeroing in on the date - more specifically, the month.  October.

Kai was kicked off the team in the beginning of May.  Five months seemed entirely too short and too long.

The cuts have barely begun to heal by the time white gauze is taped over them.  Dr. Lena offers him painkillers, which he refuses ( they don’t work on wolves, so it’d be a waste of medical supplies ).  “We want to keep you overnight, just in case. You’ll be discharged tomorrow if you’re up to it.  If you need anything, just press the red button next to you.”

With another pitying smile ( god he hates that smell ), she pulls a blanket over him and turns off the lights.  Derek knows he can’t stay - malnutritioned or not, his wounds will still heal faster than normal - but the bed was … horizontal.  Someone had tucked him in.  Five months; he hadn’t been allowed to lie down in five months, had only slept when he passed out from exhaustion.

His eyes close mutinously before he can pull the warm covers off.

* * *

 A sheen of sweat covers Derek as he hangs limply against the chain fence, barbed wire cutting into his skin like a needles in a pincushion.  

“I still don’t understand why he’s not dead yet.”  One of the hunters, George, took a swig of the cheap liquor in his flask.  He eyes the werewolf with distaste and walks over to the generator, fiddling with the many dials and switches.  With a hum, the machine sped up in intensity.  Each wave of electricity barely ended before the next wave hit, burning the stressed muscles.

“Even those dumb animals aren’t going to be tricked into helping a dead wounded alpha.”  His partner, Louis replied.  Derek wanted to snarl at him. He was talking about _children_ **_._ ** Young teenagers who have never taken a human life, who have only been a were for a few weeks at best. Bile rose in his throat at the thought of his scent being used to capture them. One of their pet wolves would promise the victim an alpha that could teach them strength and control.  They had Derek’s scent to prove the story, and even those who were suspicious were no match for the ambush that waited them. Indirectly (though logically he knew better), he was responsible for every death after Kai.

He opts for stony silence, watching the hunters in a haze of anger and pain.

One of them comes back with a giant box.  It’s fried chicken again tonight, and Derek feels his stomach twisting at the smell. Though normally he’d prefer something with less grease, he’d eat nearly anything at this point. Anything to keep his body from eating his own muscles in an attempt to heal through the constant wounds.  A piece of chicken falls to the floor as George elbows another hunter, and Derek watches it hungrily. If he had been more hydrated, he’s sure that he would have salivated at the forgotten meat.

Like a dog.  It’s not the first time he’s thought of that phrase, words that were spoken through matte red lips and what used to be a pretty smile.

Suddenly, the cramps feel numb. He feels smaller somehow, as if his body had shrunk in on itself. His vision dances in black spots, and he sags further, rattling the chain fence behind him. A figure rises from the table ( Louis?  Talbot? Julie?) and stares at him for a few moments before noticing the meat on the ground.  They pick it up from the ground and holds it out to him, just close enough for him to take a bite.  

It’s stupid; it’s so fucking stupid and his rational side of him knows that it will accomplish nothing. But instinct drives him to lunge at the hunter, teeth snapping for the wrist.  The fence behind him is just flexible enough where he can get an inch closer if he digs the wires further into his muscles.  But he’s too weak and too slow.  His fangs close in on empty air.

They’re all up on their feet now, meal forgotten.  There’s yelling - loud, angry words at each other and at him.  Someone grabbed one of the tasers.  It hums to life and he can hear his blood pounding so loudly in his ears he wouldn’t be surprised if blood dripped out of them.  Thanks to his wolf strength, he doesn’t pass out for a very long time.

* * *

“Wake up!  Derek!”

Derek jolts awake, eyes burning red and his fangs out.  It takes him a disorienting second to realize that he’s in the hospital, and that it’s sometime in the middle of the night.  And there’s a familiar scent.

Stiles.

His fangs retreat, and when he blinks again, the irises have returned to its normal color.  

“C’mon buddy, let’s get you out of here before they realize that you’re healing like the wolverine.”  They make quick work of detaching all the medical equipment, and Stiles leads him through the hospital so efficiently he must have known everyone’s schedule.  In less that 10 minutes, they’re in his Jeep ( how was this car still alive? It must have the same luck that Stiles has ) like they’ve been a thousand times before.

Derek doesn’t say a word for the entire drive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback and suggestions are always welcomed!  
> Chapter penned by DigitalKiss!


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